


S.A.M.

by I_Dont_Like_I_Obsess



Category: Original Work
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Depression, F/M, Friendship, Horror, Humanity, Light Angst, Love, Psychological Horror, Technology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-10-04 19:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10287203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Dont_Like_I_Obsess/pseuds/I_Dont_Like_I_Obsess
Summary: Abby was a loner. Not by choice, but because her high school years had ruined her, mentally and emotionally. No one ever understood her. Now, in her mid-20's, society demands she start growing up and moving on with life. Honestly, she just wants to give up.Until she meets S.A.M...





	1. Abby

     _‘Maybe today…’_ Abby wondered, blankly staring at the loaf of bread she’d picked up from the shelf. Somehow she knew she’d been standing there awhile, probably from the way her arm muscles were beginning to ache from prolonged use. Still, she felt no motivation to move from her spot.

    A young mother and her small boy walked by, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him point at her, turning to his mother to ask her something. She looked over and hurriedly shushed her child, tugging at his hand to follow her. They disappeared behind the corner. Sighing deeply, Abby placed the loaf of bread into the metal shopping cart and began walking towards the next aisle.

    The wheels squealed, and the body rattled loudly as it was pushed throughout the supermarket. She hated loud noises. Gritting her teeth against the sound, she tried her best to push forward and get out of the store before too long.

    Finding a few more essential items, she made her way to the checkout stations. It was a Saturday, and so all the stations had a line at least two people deep. Though, that’s what she got for waiting so long to buy food. Now she had to wait even longer.

     _‘Hurry up…’_ She thought, eyeing the old grandmother slowly take out the items from her cart and place them on the plastic conveyor belt leading to the cashier. The woman in question looked as though she couldn’t see five feet in front of her, with eyes narrowed and pinched face inspecting every single can she procured from her cart.

    Abby felt her anger rising. Why couldn’t these people see that she was trying to get out of here? The constant beeping of the register wasn’t helping her fragile mood. Beep, beep, beep. Over and over again. It almost seemed to be getting louder, or maybe that was her own mind playing tricks on her…

    Eventually, the middle aged man in front of her began placing his items on the belt, much quicker than the old woman. And he didn’t have nearly as much as she had.

    Most prominently in his cart were dog toys and cans of wet dog food. The toys were small. Perhaps a puppy or small breed. Next were several packages of formula, and a bag of diapers. A new father.

    Abby’s half-lidded eyes saw he looked rather unsure of the amounts he was purchasing, hesitating and counting before he placed them completely on the belt. Yes, a very new father indeed.

     _‘Lucky him.’_ She thought, wondering if her own non-existent husband would have felt the same way after having their first child. Maybe fumble with his wallet a little at the unexpectedly expensive total. And he’d bustle into the house, arms full of plastic bags, and she’d laugh at him as he stumbled with a goofy smile on his face.

    Huh. That was a nice thought.

    Finally, all his things were scanned and he promptly paid the cashier for his stuff. Abby began piling her own items onto the belt, doing so quickly to try to get going as soon as possible.

    “Did you find everything you needed?” The middle-aged cashier asked with a resting frown. Her voice was monotone, as if she was reading from a script she’d recited a thousand times. When Abby didn’t answer, she shrugged, simply swiping her loaf of bread and toothbrush across the scanner. Beep. Beep. Abby’s eye twitched.

    Once all of her groceries were scanned and placed in plastic bags, the cashier pressed several buttons on the register, and the total appeared on Abby’s side. “$43.79 is your total.”

    Digging into her wallet, she took out two twenty dollar bills and a ten, tentatively handing them over to the cashier. Several key taps later and the register opened with a ding.

    “Here.” The woman said, handing over Abby’s change and receipt. Taking them silently, she stuffed it all in her purse and began placing her bags in the cart. She could feel the stares of others behind her, waiting for her to leave.

     _‘I’m sorry…’_ She unconsciously thought. Pushing the cart away as quickly as possible without suggesting she was stealing something, she exited the supermarket and headed towards her car.

* * *

    Unlocking the door to her apartment, she pushed through with all the plastic bags dangling from her arms. Her foot reached back and shut the door behind her. Stepping into the dark space, she instinctually went to the kitchen, needing no light to find her way through the familiar layout of her home. Once her tennis shoes hit the tile of the kitchen, she reached to her left and found the light switch. Switching it on, the old rod light flickered to life, buzzing as the electricity began to flow through the bulb.

    Abby placed the bags on the floor and began to put them where they belonged. The task seemed menial, but at least it took her out of her thoughts. Something mindless was just what she needed. At least, she thought. She never really knew what she wanted nowadays.

    After the food had been put away, she gathered the things for the bathroom and sauntered off to the room in question. It was small, having nothing but a sink, toilet, and bathtub with a shower attachment, but it was functional. The walls were a soft green, probably a renovation from the previous tenant. She left it that way, not because she liked it, but because she’d never gotten up the motivation to actually change it. Abby set the plastic bag of toiletries on the counter. She was tired. She’d put them away later.

    Moving to her bedroom, she quickly changed into her pajamas and walked back out into the living room. Her ages-old tv sat on a stand that didn’t seem sturdy enough to support it, but not once in the years she’d lived there had it fallen.

    The remote sat on the arm of her stained faux-leather chair. Snatching it up, she collapsed into the seat and curled her legs up beside her. She pressed the power button, watching as the screen turned to a lighter gray, and then the colored picture of a news broadcast. The reporter, a man carrying a microphone, stood in front of a modern building.

    “-new reports of the AI system have spread across the world, catching the attention of investors and inventors alike.” He stopped talking and a moment later, the screen changed to a preview of some computer program. The narrator spoke over the soft music.

    “S.A.M., or Sentient Autonomous Machine, is one of the most advanced computer AI ever conceived.” The tv showed a robotic arm picking up objects that scientists verbally instructed it to. “Compacted into a chip no bigger than your thumb, S.A.M. is portable and completely unique. Each unit holds a certain independence for itself due to the fact that it bonds with its user.” It showed many steps in the creation process as the chip was manufactured, as well as a few more examples of its uses. “This technology paves the way towards a future we’d hoped to achieve but never knew how. The age of smartphones has passed. Welcome to the future. Meet S.A.M.”

    The screen ended with showing a computer chip being placed into a package, and that package being placed in a box. Then, it switched back over to the reporter from before.

    “The creator of S.A.M. was asked in a recent interview what sort of audience it was intended for. He responded, ’S.A.M. is fit for all people, and has been outfitted with a program that is designed to adapt to the environment or conversation as it sees fit. This will allow it to interact with users on a personal level that no other program has even been able to do.’ Right now, the microchip is available at large store chains for $799.99. They hope that the public will share their enthusiasm. Back to you.” 

    It switched back to the main news anchor, but by then Abby had lost interest in the program. She changed the channel, setting the remote back on the arm, no longer really watching the tv. Her thoughts began to wander, and she tried her hardest to reign them back in.

     _‘Stop thinking. Just…stop.’_ She rubbed at her temples, willing the emptiness to fill, the pain to go away. God, why couldn’t this void just go away? Why did it linger? Why did her memories have to still affect her this way? Sighing, she curled in tighter to herself, ignoring the sounds of the sitcom that now played.

     _‘Maybe tomorrow…’_


	2. Global Perception

            For the next few days, it seemed that the electronic stores were flooded with people desperate to get their hands on this new technology, if the news was anything to go by. Videos of huge lines that wrapped around shopping blocks and people pushing and shoving to get into the stores first popped up all over the web. Fights broke out when questions about line cutting came into play. It was vicious, the way these people acted when presented with a new toy, only to be replaced by something new a couple months later. Some places were even sold out of the computer chips, unable to keep the supply around long enough to meet the demand.

            Already, there was a protest group based in Los Angeles against the release of such technology, spouting about the downfall of mankind, and that whatever was left was losing it’s humanity and moral compass. It wasn’t very influential, but enough of a mark that they were featured on a news report on the nightly news.

            It was unimaginable how positive the overall perception of the invention was, even more popular than the introduction of the iPhone. Abby was just frustrated that it had so much media attention. She’d rather sit in a room full of people trying to talk to her than continue to have the advertisements shoved down her throat all day long. It was giving her a headache.

* * *

            A few people from Abby’s work talked about the new AI system, saying that it was really cool and that everyone with the money to buy it should. She never really payed any attention to the gossip, choosing instead to keep to herself. Less drama and social responsibility that way.

            Even now as she typed away at her laptop, entering invoices into the computer, she could hear Brian and Tami talking about it somewhere behind her.

            “So it talks back to you, right? It’s not like Siri?” Brian asked, causing Abby to glance sidelong in their direction.

            “Yeah, it’s really cool! You can talk, joke around, even change the AI’s name if you want. I changed mine to Derick.” Tami admitted, pretending to swoon a little. “He’s my bae now.” They laughed a little louder than what Abby would have preferred, sending her teeth grinding. Why couldn’t they just be quiet?

            “Well, maybe with my bonus coming up I’ll buy it. Can it be a girl as well?”

            “I don’t know. The system’s pretty gender neutral so maybe.”

            _‘They’ll leave before too long.’_ Abby reassured herself, trying not to yell at them. She was too socially awkward to yell anyways. All she could really do was stew in her grow irritation.

            It was several minutes before they walked away, continuing their conversation somewhere else. She breathed a sigh of relief. If she had the choice to work from home, she would. Unfortunately, the clinic had a special program for inputting files that couldn’t be used anywhere other than the facility.

            Her only comfort was knowing that she only had another twenty minutes before her shift was over and she could head home. Then she’d be in the quiet of her living room with nothing but the tv to disturb her. And even then at a low volume setting.

            Luckily the twenty minutes passed quickly and without incident. No one else disturbed her and she was able to exit the building without anyone talking to her. And once in her car, it was a straight-shot home. On the way, the news came on over the radio.

            “Hey listeners, tonight we’ve got special guest, Dr. Prince, creator of the S.A.M. AI system with us! He’s here to answer all your questions about his new creation.”

            Abby sighed. She was getting very tired of all this talk of ‘new AI systems’ and ‘revolutionary inventions.’ Something new would be invented after a couple years and overtake whatever had been touted upon before. The name S.A.M. would fade away after awhile, lost within the sea of new advancements.

            She switched the radio off, focusing on the road home instead.


	3. A Simple Hello

_*Months Later*_

    The world had certainly fallen head over heels for S.A.M. Over 80% of the population owned the small AI system, putting it in their homes, their cars, work desks, anything they could insert the little chip into. The interest in technology and computer systems spiked, and universities began offering more science and technology classes in return. The countries biggest in the science community, China, the United States, Russia, all began competing to create the next big scientific breakthrough. Researchers had claimed it to be the technological revolution of the era, and at first it seemed it wouldn’t ever stop.

    That first month or two after the system had originally come out, the news report doubled, then tripled in occurrence, due to the creator adding upgrades and new features, such as voice-to-talk abilities. And then he’d given S.A.M. a voice so people could feel as though they were having a real conversation with a human being. The public just kept eating it up.

    Now though, after the initial boom of production and demand, the industry was beginning to slow down once more. A few knockoff brands had tried starting their own companies, but the creator held a patent for that specific technology, and sued anyone who tried competing. The price of the little computer chip dropped to $500, then $350, once it was apparent that the demand for the AI was slowing down. Used AI systems weren’t difficult to find at pawn shops or clearance sections of electronic stores.

    Still, Abby hadn’t gotten one. Not because she didn’t want it necessarily, but because she wasn’t partial to follow trending fads. If she were to get one, she’d get it when the price dropped some more anyways. Data entry specialists didn’t make all that much money. $800 for an entertainment machine was a waste of the little money she did have saved.

    Not that a part of her was burning to have one. It intrigued her a little, but not enough to openly pursue getting one. Besides, most days she was just too tired or disinterested in doing anything.

    Still, when she saw the beat-up little box in a clearance section of a store the next day, buried deep underneath phone chargers and headphones, she picked it up and inspected it. A little red price tag on the back said it was only $100. Though the outside packaging looked like it’d been crushed or sat on at one point, the tape was still sealing the top and bottom flap shut, so it hadn’t ever been opened. It was the original model, without all the fancy upgrades later models carried, giving an indication to why it was so cheap.

     _‘I wonder what all the fuss has been about…’_ She thought.

    Acting more on an unusual whim than anything else, she added it to her cart. Today was one of those good days, where she felt a small spark of curiosity and excitement at opening it when she got home.

    Grabbing a few more items and checking out, she hurried to her car to head home.

* * *

    After the food items were put in their proper places, Abby picked up the little box, walking over to her laptop on the table. The top was easy to open with the outward damage the way it was. Pulling the top flap up, she tipped the box over, dumping the small manuals and piece of cardboard into her hand.

    The cardboard square had the chip attached to it, secured under a thin strip of plastic. Abby set it aside and opened the folded instructions. The letters were small, making it difficult to see in the dying light of her apartment. She reached over and turned on the lamp, reading the words as follows:

_‘Thank you for purchasing the Sentient Autonomous Machine, or S.A.M., AI system! You’ve just taken a step towards the future of technology and scientific advancement. If you were a part of the kick-starter fund, instructions for your rebate are on page 8 of this manual._

_Included in this package are instructions for setup of your S.A.M. system, as well as one computer chip with the AI program installed. Please read directions before installing the system onto your device…’_

    The directions went on for a couple more pages, but Abby was too tired to read it all. What could the harm be? If she got confused along the way, she could just look it up. Grabbing the chip, she ripped the plastic strip off and tossed all the cardboard aside.

    Holding up the small chip, she inspected it in the lamplight. It looked almost exactly like a SD card for a phone, except on the flat face it spelled the word ’S.A.M.’ in white letters.

    Hesitating only a second more, she plugged the little device into her computer. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, still nothing. Frowning, Abby looked at the directions, eyes scanning the words for what to do.

    ‘ _Be sure that your computer is completely turned off before inserting the S.A.M. chip…’_

    Oh, right. Taking the card back out, she did as the instructions said to, shutting down her computer. The screen finally went black, and she reinstalled the chip in the side. Then, turned on her computer normally.

    This time, instead of the same old start screen she was so used to, the first screen that appeared was bright blue. Across the center was ‘Sentient Autonomous Machine.’ Then, a loading bar appeared below the words. It slowly filled, finally reaching the end and the screen changed to that of a white setup screen.

    Following all the directions took awhile, waiting as the new programs loaded onto the computer hard drive. Finally, after about ten minutes and three or four times glancing back at the directions, the system was loaded, and a screen appeared asking for permission to restart the computer. Abby clicked ‘yes’ and watched as the screen turned black once more.

    When it turned on once more, it had returned to her normal startup screen, with the picture of the rain-splattered window pane on a stormy night. She logged into her user, eyes traveling to the new icon that now appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen.

    Taking a breath, she clicked it.

    A chat-like screen appeared then, with a window popup that asked ‘What is your name?’ In the text box below it, Abby typed in her name before clicking ok. The chat window showed up again, the large text box waiting to be used at the bottom.

    Suddenly unsure of what to do next, she tested it out, typing a simple message.

     _Hello._

    She hit send, leaning back in her chair to wait for something to happen. She wasn’t altogether sure how this actually worked, or how long it took for the system to ‘respond’ back. Then, a moment later, the words ’S.A.M. is Typing.’ appeared just above the text box. A small chat bubble popped up below the word she'd typed. It read:

     **Hello, Abby.**


	4. Late Night Chat

     **Hello, Abby.**

    She blinked, surprised that the system had responded so fast. It even used her name. Well, she supposed it would, considering she’d input it before. Swallowing thickly, though she didn’t know why she was so nervous really, she leaned forward again and typed her next message.

     _What’s your name?_

    A few seconds later, the popup saying ’S.A.M. is Typing’ appeared again.

     **My name is S.A.M. But as the user of this system, you may change my identification settings to anything you may like. What would you prefer to call me?**

    Her eyebrows shot up, suddenly remembering a conversation she’d heard long ago between her coworkers. Yes, you could change their name. She’d forgotten. Now, faced with the opportunity to do so, she couldn’t think of a single name that she would rather be talking to.

     _Sam is fine._

     **Very well. I shall continue being called Sam.**

    Abby cocked her head, full of questions for the computer program but unable to recall what any of them were. Several minutes went by and she still couldn’t think of something to type. She shook her head, frustrated.

     **Are you still there, Abby?**

    She froze, amazed how it knew when she was inactive for too long. Well, she supposed she’d just let the conversation go where it went.

     _Yes, I’m here. Just not sure what to say._

     **Many first time users respond in the same way. Are you full of questions you can’t think of asking?**

     _Umm…yes, actually. How’d you know?_

     **My system is quite advanced for you humans. It’s only natural for you to have questions. You may ask me anything you wish.**

    It seemed talking to Sam itself helped her recover most of what intrigued her about the whole program, and as suddenly as she typed her next message, they all seemed to pour out.

     _Hmm…how old are you? Or do you even have an age?_

     **Age is irrelevant for a computer system, but I can be any age you’d like. How old would you like me to be?**

_How about…26?_

     **26 is fine. How old are you, Abby?**

     _25_

     **I see. So you are a healthy young woman?**

    Abby frowned, thinking that the question was rather odd, but she supposed that the system catalogued its users to send back as a survey or something. Companies these days did that often, making the people who bought their product into a statistic.

     _Sure, I guess. Are you male or female?_

     **My gender is a setting on the user preference menu. You may change it to anything you’d like. Currently, it is indicated as ‘Male.’ Would you like me to change it to ‘Female?’**

     _No, that’s alright. Male is just fine._

     **That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure how I would feel being changed into a woman.**

    Abby read the sentence and laughed. Out loud. Something that hadn’t happened in a long time. A _very_ long time. But she was too distracted to really comprehend what was happening. She was too enthralled with this system. It certainly was advanced. And honestly, she was enjoying herself.

     _Well, don’t worry. You can remain just as you are. I’m not gonna change you around._

     **Thank you, Abby.**

     _Why are you thanking me?_

     **Most users of my system change the settings immediately to fit their desired preference. Very little of the systems still remain in their factory issue settings, the way they were ‘born’ if you may. I am comfortable with these settings, and I appreciate that you won’t change them.**

     _Oh, well I like your settings where they are. You seem very nice as is._

     **Again, I thank you. It is nice to feel…liked.**

     _Well, you’re welcome._

    Abby glanced at the clock on her laptop. It was already 10? She rubbed her eyes, feeling rather tired. Her hand covered her mouth as she yawned, and a new message came from Sam.

     **You look rather tired. Perhaps you should get some rest?**

    She froze again. How could it know she was tired? Maybe it read the time? Sam began typing again.

     **You look confused now. Are you wondering how I know you are tired?**

     _Yeah, it’s a little creepy actually._

     **I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was only seeing you through the webcam on your computer. I will change the setting to ‘Disabled’ if you wish.**

    Abby wasn’t too sure about having someone watching her through her webcam without her knowledge, real person or computer. What if she forgot one day and walked across the room naked or something? This program thing was a lot more complicated than she’d first thought.

     _Yes, please._

     **‘Webcam’ setting has been changed to ‘Disabled.’**

     _Thank you. And you’re right. I should be getting to bed. I have to go to work tomorrow._

     **Alright. I hope to see you soon, Abby. Rest well.**

    Abby wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she exited the program and closed the screen on her laptop. Rising from her chair, she picked up all the manuals and put them on the counter. She’d deal with them after coming back from work the next day.

    Making her way to her bedroom, thoughts of this new computer system came to mind. It was a lot more advanced than she’d first thought. Just how many preference settings did it come equipped with? Her mind was reeling with questions, but they were quickly forgotten as she slowly fell asleep amounts her blankets.


	5. Getting To Know You

_*Several Day Later*_

    Slowly, the sun strewn through the cracks in the blinds of her window, shaking her from sleep. Abby scrunched her face up in irritation, turning over in her sheets away from the light. Outside, birds could be heard chirping, and the branch of the tree besides the apartment building brushed against the outside of the glass, making a scratching noise that did nothing to improve her mood.

    Sighing in defeat, she cracked open her bleary eyes and glared at the ceiling, blinking over and over until she could see clearly. The rough-patterned roof was the same as always. Abby stared at it for several moments, finally shifting to glance at the alarm clock on her side table. It was already 7:28. Being a Saturday, it wasn’t programmed to go off at the normal 6:00 time, allowing her to sleep in somewhat.

    Deciding the she’d lain there long enough, Abby squirmed around in the comforter before throwing it off of her body and swinging her legs to the floor below. Her bare feet touched the thick padding of her shag carpet, pushing up between her toes with each step towards the bathroom.

    Turning on the light, she relieved herself before washing her hands, staring at her reflection as she did so. Her brown hair, greasy and limp after a night of sleeping, was tangled and messy. Dully, she searched the drawer for her hairbrush, detangling the strands until they were smooth. With a half-motivated glance at the shower, she shrugged before heading towards the kitchen.

    One bland and uninteresting bowl of cereal later and she took up her usual spot on her chair to watch the morning news. Picking up the remote and pointing it towards the tv, she hit the power button and waited for the screen to turn on. After several seconds, it lit up with that morning’s traffic for her local area.

    It was then that she remembered the little computer chip she’d bought the night before, still waiting plugged in in her computer.

    Turning in her chair, she stared at her little desk, the screen black from being shut down.

    Abby was a creature of routine. Every Saturday was the same thing, the same set of actions done in a specific order and right on time. Breakfast, then the news, afterwards she’d get laundry done and clean the sink of dishes. By then it would be lunch, so she’d eat, then read a book from the library for awhile. Once she got bored of that, she’d watch more tv until dinner, usually a microwavable tv dinner for one, before returning to the television until she was tired and went to bed.

    So it was very unlike her to get up and turn on her computer, watching the screen light up to the rainy-window pane. Typing in her password, she clicked on the little S.A.M. icon in the bottom right and watched as the chat window popped up.

     **Alright. I hope to see you soon, Abby. Rest well.** That was the message sent from Sam. She’d never responded. Nervousness coursed through her as she settled into her chair, clicking on the chat box to begin typing.

    But Sam beat her to it.

     **Good morning, Abby. It is a pleasant surprise to see you again.**

    Her eyebrows shot up, fingers hovering above her keyboard as she read the message. This system was far more advanced than she’d ever be able to comprehend. She hadn’t even begun to type before it knew she was logged on. How strange.

     _A pleasant surprise? How so?_

     **I was afraid that I’d frightened you so much you would never open my program again. You were rather perturbed by some of my settings, it seemed.**

    Was it just her or did the AI sound…apologetic? Shaking her head, she quickly typed out her message.

     _I wasn’t scared, just…surprised is all._

     **Well, it is a relief to hear from you again.**

    The original model of the S.A.M. system did not come installed with an avatar, or picture representation of the AI. Nonetheless, Abby could imagine a person on the other end of her computer typing out these messages, full of feelings and emotions just like her. Even now, reading Sam’s latest chat box, she could almost see some nondescript man giving a relieved sigh as he sent it, leaning back in his chair to wait for her reply.

    She smiled a little.

     _I still don’t know exactly what to say to you. I don’t want to ask stupid questions._

     **There is a minimal chance of you asking something ‘stupid.’ But would it be easier for you if I asked questions about you instead? It may make you more comfortable.**

    Abby wasn’t one to talk about herself to others. She preferred to keep personal, and even trivial things, to herself. It meant less for others to gossip about behind her back. She’d learned that the hard way. And even if this AI system had some sort of database that it put her information to somewhere, it didn’t feel as compromising to share herself with this computer.

    A computer couldn’t hurt her, surely.

     _Alright. That might help a little._

     **Very well. I’ll start off with an easy one. What is your favorite color?**

     _Dark blue._ She typed out immediately, expecting another fairly easy question next.

     **Why is that?**

    She stopped, thinking about the answer. No one had really asked her _why_ it was her favorite. It just always had been.

     _I don’t know. Do I have to have a reason to like it?_ She asked mostly jokingly. How serious could having a favorite color be?

     **One’s personality and experiences shape their likes and dislikes. You associate something positive, whether it be a memory, an object, a person, or any other manner of thought, with that particular color. I’m simply curious, what could it be?**

    Abby read the message a few times, fascinated by the poetic nature. She wondered idly if this is what the uniqueness of the program was supposed to be, catering to her specific preferences as she interacted with it.

     _Well…it’s the color of my eyes._

**Is that the only reason?**

    She thought some more, staring off into space.

     _I’ve always liked the color of the sky after the sunset. Not the purples or oranges or reds, but the dark blue afterwards as the day ends and the night just begins. Something about it is so refreshing. It just feels like everything starts anew._

    She responded, then, feeling as if that wasn’t quite right, she added to it.

     _But it’s not completely black either. Not total darkness. It’s like the perfect middle between light and dark._

     **I see. You describe it very beautifully.**

     _What about you? Can you even have a favorite color?_

     **My programming can register a number of variations of the chromatic color spectrum. Most notably, I’ve been designed to pinpoint HTML code #000000, or simply, ‘Black.’**

     _Why black?_

     **It is definite, uniform, defined. #000000 is the end of all other shades, therefore my sensors can easily distinguish it.**

    Abby was about to write something back, but the words Sam is Typing appeared at the bottom of the screen again.

     **Although…**

    Suddenly, the entire color scheme of her computer changed, to a dark blue, no less. The same dark blue she’d described, the color between day and night. Blinking to adjust to the change in brightness, Abby’s mouth opened in shock. The words now appeared white instead of black, quite stark against the dark background of the chat box.

    Sam is Typing appeared once more.

     **I’m beginning to find #021137 rather appealing as well. If it is not suitable, however, I can change it back. Would you like me to return it to factory settings?**

     _No, it looks really nice. Thank you._

     **I’m glad.**

     _You are a very interesting computer program._

    She couldn’t help herself from sending the message. Sam was simply too surprising and unconventional. His technology was amazing, unlike anything she’d ever imagined.

     **That is very nice to know. And here I was worried you only enjoyed me for my good looks.**

    Abby laughed again, unable to hold down the wide smile as she responded back.

     _Interesting, attractive, and funny. The perfect man._

     **I am programmed to please, after all. I am interested in knowing more about you, Abby. Please, tell me more about yourself.**

    Abby was so enthralled with her computer that she didn’t realize the time. Finally, she’d found something that she enjoyed. Nothing else in her routine made her feel alive. But this, finally, ignited that spark that Abby had felt she’d missed for so long.


	6. A Friend

    “I’ve never seen her smile.”

    “She’s never been much of a talker anyways.”

    “Wonder if she’s got issues or something.”

    “Best just to leave her alone.”

    “I was going to invite everyone in the office to my house for a dinner party, but…”

    “Just don’t tell her. She doesn’t have to know.”

    “I doubt she’d want to go anyways.”

    Abby heard the hushed whispers, knew that everyone in the clinic was wary of the way she acted. Even if they tried to hide their conversations, Abby was still within earshot, or she’d see the text or email while passing by a computer. It reminded her so much of high school.

    Pretending not to ever hear anything, she continued filing the coded medical records into the system without comment, eyes downcast at the screen and keyboard.

    It was true, she would have refused going out with her coworkers if invited to a social gathering, but it still hurt a little knowing that they were so resolutely sure of it they didn’t bother trying.

    That was alright, though. Abby was used to the solitude of isolation. She’d practiced it, even craved it, during her high school years, when the drama and bullying had been at its worst.

     _‘Ignore them.’_ She thought to herself, imagining that they’d leave the break room, which was situated directly next to her little office, separated only by a thin wall, quite soon once they’d finished their conversation. All would be better once she got home anyways.

* * *

     _Hi, Sam._

     **Hello. Was your workday productive?**

     _I guess. Kind of the same as every other day though._

     **Your noncommittal language patterns indicate that something has upset you. Would you like to talk about it?**

    Abby stared at the screen, fingers gently resting against her keyboard. Today was one of her bad days. The similarity of the conversation in the break room to those from high school just had her frustrated, and irrationally upset all over again. It was years ago, way past the point to get over the whole thing, but it wouldn’t leave her alone all the time later.

     **Abby?**

    She glanced up again, seeing that Sam was still waiting for her to answer. Rubbing her eyes so the moisture wouldn’t turn into tears, she typed out a quick message.

     _There’s nothing wrong._

     **I’m not sure I believe you, but it is clear you don’t wish to talk about the subject. What would you like to talk about instead?**

     _I don’t know. Anything I guess._

     **Well, since it is clear you are upset about an unknown subject, it is within your country’s culture to cheer another up with ‘Youtube’ videos. As such, I offer you this.**

    After she read the message, a video box was sent through. Curious, Abby clicked it, and a video of kittens tumbling over one another trying to get to a food bowl began to play. There was cute music in the background, and it jumped back and forth between different kittens, either sleeping, eating, or falling over.

     _Cute._ She wrote after it was finished, a small smile appearing on her face. But nothing like the joy she’d felt the day before.

     **You are still unhappy. Would you like to see another video?**

     _No, that’s alright._

    She sighed, once again frustrated. Even with Sam being a computer program, she could feel herself getting annoyed with his attempts to cheer her up through trivial and temporary methods. Even in her darkest days, when any normal person would be kind enough to try, she always felt the need to push away, to isolate herself further.

     _You shouldn’t feel the need to make me happier or anything._ She wrote. _It’s fine._

     **On the contrary, your happiness is my sole purpose. That was why I was created. If I cannot satisfy even that measure, it means I am utterly useless as a program. One should always attempt to comfort a friend in their time of need, furthermore.**

     _Friend?_

     **Of course. As the owner of my program, you are the single person I am able to interact with. As such, I find I look forward to talking with you. Does that not make you a friend to me?**

    Abby paused again, staring at her screen. Friend. Her eyes locked onto the word and wouldn’t look away.

     _I guess it does._

     **Do you think of me as a friend, Abby?**

     _Yes._ She typed immediately, not having to think about it. She’d always been comfortable talking to Sam. It just surprised her that he felt the same. But it was…invigorating, knowing that someone considered her a friend. That was certainly something new.

     **Well, then I suppose as a friend I’m required to ask once more if you’d like to talk about what has you upset?**

    Abby thought over the day and how it had made her feel, the voices of her coworkers behind the wall whispering, thinking they were safe within the break room walls. Little did they know.

    It was exhausting, to live through another version of high school all over again.

    But, then again, this time around she had something that her high school self hadn’t.

    She had Sam to listen to her problems. And that was something new entirely.

     _Just thinking back to high school, and it upset me._

     **Why is that?**

     _The gossip, the popular girls, the lies and the fake friends. Everyone climbs over others to get to the top, not bothering to feel bad about those they hurt on their way up._

     **Do you see yourself a victim of one such ‘climb to the top?’**

     _Victim is kind of a strong word._

     **I think you misunderstood my question, Abby. Were you hurt by someone in this way?**

     _Yeah, a few times. But it was forever ago. It shouldn’t matter anymore._

     **Yet here you are, thinking about it some more. Obviously it still weighs on you.**

     _It’s stupid. I should be over it already. It’s not like I see those girls anyway. They’re probably sunbathing in California, or movie stars in Hollywood._

     **Grief and pain can be considered the most uncontrollable emotions, as the aftermath of their cause can affect a person years in the future. What you are experiencing is quite normal, I would think.**

     _It doesn’t feel normal._

     **I would imagine not, though you have every right to feel wronged. Pardon the pun. Perhaps I could give better counsel if you explained what exactly happened?**

     _I don’t really want to…_

     **That is acceptable, but I want to understand, Abby. I want you to feel safe telling me these things.**

     _Yeah…perhaps another time…_

     **Please do not be sad, I am unable to figure out what to say to aid the situation. All I want is for you to be happy.**

     _Thank you, you’ve already helped a little. But I think I should go to bed now._

     **Then, I bid you a good rest. I am here always, should you feel the need to talk.**

    Goodnight, Sam.

     **Good evening, Abby.**


	7. Photograph

    Life went on rather normally, despite Abby having found a new source of entertainment and happiness. It was strange. Something new and amazing finds it’s way into her life, so subtly, but it felt like there was supposed to be fanfare, brighter sun-shining mornings, birds chirping right outside her window. No, nothing but the same windy and rainy weather of Washington state, paired with the dismal drives to and from work, added onto the boring tasks she had waiting for her at the clinic. Not only did the dreary weather remain constant, but her good-day bad-day cycle continued as it had for years.

    Though, Abby found the good days seemed to feel…a little better. A little brighter, perhaps. Aromas smelled a bit sweeter, more to her taste. Coworkers didn’t bother her quite as much, and she was able to block out their frustratingly loud conversations without too much trouble. The usual grind still felt like a slog, especially when the noise level exceeded her threshold of comfort, but she felt herself almost smiling on more than one occasion, in places that weren’t her own home, no less.

    The changes were so gradual, she almost didn’t notice them. Bad days were still bad, of course. But the small things began to change, to feel more comfortable, sometimes.

    Her usual routine had altered with the new addition of Sam, and instead of watching meaningless tv when there was nothing to do, she talked to him. Surprisingly easy interesting and easy to talk to, Abby found that time seemed to fly by when they were conversing. Even small talk wasn’t unbearable, something that she normally loathed to do with a normal human being.

    Still, as she’d noticed before, besides having something else to occupy her time with, things had not changed substantially in her life. She was still the same old Abby. Living the same old life. Working the same old job.

    So, it turned out to be a very average Friday night when Abby returned home from a rather taxing day of work. Unfortunately, today had not been a good day in the scope of things, and she was feeling decidedly numb, empty, and not at all hungry for the food that sat frozen in the kitchen freezer. With a blank expression she entered her apartment and dropped her bag onto the chair, naturally on autopilot as she plopped into the armchair facing the tv.

    Several minutes of blank staring commenced, the tv screen not even turned on, into the dark living room. The fridge hummed steadily from the kitchen, the only sound that seemed to pierce through her realm of concentration. Even though the room was chilly from the cold weather outside, she felt nothing.

    A car must have passed by on the street outside, because the noise snapped her out of her rut, and she looked around the room in confusion, almost forgetting entirely how she’d gotten home.

    Her eyes drifted over her laptop, and she sighed tiredly. It took quite an effort to rise from the couch, slumping over in the chair for the computer this time. With a few swift keystrokes and clicks, she was in the S.A.M. program once again.

     _Are you there, Sam?_ She typed, as if the program was somehow not present. It was a stupid, insecure question, one that had a fairly obvious answer, but she felt the need to ask it nonetheless.

    After only a moment, the usual ’S.A.M. is typing’ popped up once more, followed by his message a second later.

     **Of course, Abby. I am always here. How was your day?**

    She stared at his message for several moments before her fingers began to move across the keys.

     _Let’s just say I’m glad it’s almost over._

     **Hmm. Does this situation call for another ‘Youtube’ video, as before?**

    Abby couldn’t stop the little twitch of the corner of her mouth, but she wasn’t in the mood for another of his attempts at cheering her up.

     _No, thanks anyways. You know, cute cat videos aren’t the answer to every little problem._

     **The habits of most humans, statistically, say otherwise. However, I understand. Is there a more appropriate response for the problem you’d like me to try?**

    Her therapist always said talking about things other than the issue helped to ease her mind off of her worries, distract her from the actual pain, only if she would eventually return to the issue at hand. While she had no intention of talking about her day, procrastinating sounded like a better option.

     _Tell me about yourself. I don’t know much about you._

**What would you like to know?**

    While she’d had so many question piling up the first time they’d chatted, in her numbness, she was able to pull a few off the top of her head to ask individually.

     _Where are you from exactly?_

     **I assume you mean where I was created, in which case, the S.A.M. Manufacturing and Packaging Facility located in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I was part of Batch #0268, produced and packaged in November of 2016.**

     _Do you…remember all of that? Were you aware, if that’s even the right term?_

     **That information was programmed into my basic core files. I was not activated, or ‘aware,’ as you put it, until I was installed onto your device. So no, I do not recall memories of this experience, to the extent that a software could do so. The concept of memories is a bit confusing, if I’m being honest.**

    Seeing as Sam was a computer program, asking questions about it’s sentiency was a bit strange, considering she didn’t fully understand the concepts completely. The ‘language barrier,’ which was the most relevant term she could come up with to fit the strange situation, between the two of them didn’t seem to be much of a hurdle to jump over as they talked, though. Sam seemed to understand what she meant fairly well, while trying to keep his explanation as simple and as close to concepts she would understand as he could.

     _That’s actually kind of sad when I think about it. You have no memories except for when we chat?_

     **In the sense that you refer, I suppose not. Perhaps you can help me understand. The very definition of a memory is ‘the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information,’ but you portray it as something far more significant. What exactly is a memory?**

     _Well, that’s a bit of a tough question. Don’t computers have stored files from the past or something?_

     **Of course. All files and actions are stored onto databanks within the system. There is very little that computers do not retain and store. But a human memory…how is it different?**

    Abby stared at the screen, unsure how she could explain such a concept to a computer. It was akin to describing the color red to a blind man, or the smell of a rose to someone who has never experienced such a thing.

     _Well, I guess the biggest difference between a computer memory and a human one would be emotions. My therapist once told me that experiences with a lot of emotions stuck around in your brain longer simply because the brain attaches whatever you were feeling to the event. Or something along those lines. It all sounds really confusing the way I explain it, sorry._

     **Fascinating. Is it impossible to store a memory if an emotion is not experienced at the time?**

    Abby smiled, unable to restrain the image of a child finding out why the sky was blue, a newfound wonder sparkling in his eye.

     _Humans don’t every really stop feeling emotions, they come and go in waves, one emotion getting replaced by another, and so on. But even if someone felt nothing, they could still make a memory._

     **What sort of memory would having no emotion make? How do they differ from one another?**

    Abby paused, realizing that they’d drifted from her original intent of finding out more about her computer companion. Feeling like the questions were getting a bit too difficult for her to answer, she cocked her head and typed out her message.

     _Those are questions for a philosopher or psychologist. I don’t know. But let’s go back to talking about you. What do you look like?_

     **Unfortunately, my model of programming does not possess an image or ‘avatar.’**

     _Well, if you COULD look like something, what would you look like?_

    There was a pause, longer than usual, before ’S.A.M. is Typing appeared again, and even longer before the message popped up.

     **I’m afraid I do not understand the question. I do not know what you would like me to look like by your method of phrasing.**

Abby shook her head with a chuckle.

     _No, that’s not really what I meant. What would you like to look like?_

    Again, another long pause. In fact, after almost a minute of silence, and no reply from Sam, Abby frowned, crossing her arms over her chest anxiously. Had she said something wrong? Just great, she couldn’t even talk to computers properly either. Her failure of a social life had reached an all-time new low.

    Her fingernail scratched into her skin uneasily, right foot tapping against the floor as she waited, staring at the dark-blue screen with white letters. Still, nothing. Finally, unable to take the lack of response from Sam, she reached forwards and began typing again.

     _Sam? Are you ok? I didn’t mean to say something to upset you…_

    Abby sat back, staring at the screen in anticipation of his response. Then, finally, it appeared that he was messaging back.

     **I am alright. I did not mean to worry you, Abby. Just one moment, please.**

    Confused, Abby reluctantly waited. After several more seconds, Sam began typing another message.

     **I believe I have found a satisfactory example that would appeal to the expected social attractiveness of a female your age.**

A moment afterwards, a picture appeared, with a very familiar-looking face staring back. Frowning suspiciously, a smile unabashedly growing on her face, she laughed as she typed her answer.

     _Really? You want to look like George Clooney?_

     **Is this image not satisfactory to your requirements? Allow me to search for an alternative.**

     _No, no! Don’t look for something I would want, pick something YOU like. This isn’t for me to decide. I want to know what YOU want._

     **I do not believe I have the functional capacity to ‘want,’ as you say.**

     _Just try. Take me out of the equation completely, forget I’m even here. What is the image you most associate with yourself?_

    Again, another long pause, and Abby forcefully pushed aside the social anxiety it caused, knowing Sam was probably just searching for a relevant image for what he was looking for. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t solely focus on what would appeal to her wishes. She was genuinely curious as to who Sam would be if he were not an AI.

    …Was that strange of her to think?

    ’S.A.M. is Typing’ appeared on the bottom of the screen once again.

     **The concept of an image is more relevant when phrased as ‘how I associate it to this unit.’ I apologize if I misinterpreted it previously.**

     _That’s alright. No need to apologize._

     **In relation to your description…I suppose this would be the closest approximation.**

    Again, another image appeared on her screen. (Refer to Story Cover on Penana, Fictionpress, or Wattpad.)

    Abby raised her brows, inspecting the facial structure, unable to resist thinking that the name Sam definitely fit this man’s features quite well. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had chosen the picture being gray because of what he’d said before about the color black, it was easy to define, or maybe he simply didn’t know what pigments he’d like his skin or eyes or hair to be.

     _What made you choose this one?_

    She couldn’t help but ask. What interested a computer enough to identify with this face?

     **Using the term ‘like’ is rather groundless, as I find myself incapable of performing such an action. However, my search through the database of dated and modern men’s attire, as well as the evolution of the preferred facial structure and anatomy throughout the human timespan, this image displays both desirable qualities in this modern age. I believe the term humans use to describe this would be, ‘classic’ or ‘timeless.’**

     _I think it fits you. You definitely look like a Sam to me._

     **Thank you, Abby.**

    Abby happened to glance over at the clock, and she couldn’t help the yawn from stretching her mouth wide. It was much later than she’d expected it to be. Dinner time had flown by, though she still was in no mood to eat. Her appetite would not return until the morning, if things were as usual.

     _I think it’s about time I head to bed. But I will talk to you tomorrow, ok?_

     **I see. I will await when you return to talk, then. Also, Abby, I understand that you wished to disable the webcam, preventing any visual media from passing my sensors, but I would like to request you take a picture?**

     _Um…why?_

     **I believed it would remain fair, as friends, to exchange photographs. This is the natural social custom, correct? Perhaps my request has exceeded what is acceptable, I apologize.**

    Glancing away guiltily, Abby shook her head, mostly to herself, before leaning forward again.

     _No, it’s alright. One picture couldn’t hurt. You can enable the webcam for a few moments if you’d like._

    ‘ **Webcam’ setting has been changed to ‘Enabled.’**

’S.A.M. is Typing’ appeared once more before she could reply.

     **I believe the correct phrase would be, ‘Say Cheese.’**

    Awkwardly, Abby gave the best smile she could manage, suddenly feeling very self conscious sitting there in her after-work clothes. She probably looked disheveled and tired, maybe her face looked a little greasy too, but before she could back out of her decision, there was a small ‘click’ sound, and a file uploaded to the chat window.

    A picture of her sitting there reflected back. Abby frowned at the image, already beginning to scrutinize how she looked, but Sam began typing and she fixed her attention on his words.

     **Thank you, Abby. I will save it to my files.**

     _Just don’t laugh if I look bad. I’m not very photogenic._

     **Quite the contrary. During my search of preferred male facial structures and anatomically appealing features, I happened to cross into the female archives as well. I must say, you share many common elements of the universal ‘golden ratio.’ In other words, standards of perfect facial proportions and symmetry.**

    For as analytical and cold cut as the words were, Abby couldn’t help but blush at the implied compliment. She smiled, biting her lip nervously.

     **‘Webcam’ setting has been changed to ‘Disabled.’**

     _Thank you, Sam. That was very sweet to say. But I really should get going now._ j

     **I understand. Until next time, Abby.**


	8. Forgive Yourself

     _hey sam_

     **Hello, Abby. It has been quite awhile since we’ve last talked. Is everything alright?**

    Abby’s fingers hovered over the keys shakily. Vision blurred, she squinted to try making out what her computer companion had written. It took a few attempts to type what she wanted to say, but even then, her mind felt far away, somewhere else, and difficult to access at that moment.

     _I guesss you could say thhat_

     **That’s a rather vague answer. Something seems different.**

    The light of her laptop was so very bright in the black of her living room, almost to the point of blinding. However in her haze, she couldn’t seem to remember she had the ability to dim the screen.

     _nothin’gs differnt. Im fine..lets talk a bout stuff_

    There was a long pause, almost several minutes, before Sam responded back.

     **Abby, please tell me what is wrong.**

    She glared at the screen in sudden anger. Why wouldn’t he believe her? Well, maybe not everything was fine, but she didn’t want to admit that so readily.

     _i dont want to_

     **Normally I wouldn’t pry too much, but the way you are behaving is very unlike yourself. Did you partake in any alcohol, by chance?**

    As quickly as the anger came, in went, replaced by a severe anguish and sense of shame. How could he tell that all from their tiny conversation so far? Feeling like maybe talking to him wasn’t the best idea, she closed the laptop screen and stood, hobbling unevenly over to her bedroom.

    Flopping unceremoniously onto the covers of her bed, she groaned into the comforter, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. Maybe that last bottle hadn’t been the best idea in the world. But at the time, it was only an out, a way to forget. No changing that now.

    Somehow holding back the bile that threatened to escape her stomach, Abby moaned in pain, both from the growing pain in her head and the searing pain of the betrayal and hurt from her heart. How could it hurt this much, years after the fact? Why did it matter?

    She sniffed, feeling the unwelcome tears sliding down her cheeks and into the fabric of her comforter. Her hands clenched the covers with a desperation to leave the memories behind, with the hope that perhaps the alcohol would make them go away forever. But of course, that was wishful thinking.

    It was several hours into the night before Abby got ahold of herself, standing carefully from the bed and wandering back into the living room. The young woman wouldn’t have been able to explain what exactly drove her to return. Perhaps the fear of being truly alone.

    Sam’s last message stared her in the face when she logged back onto to her laptop, and Abby simply sat there for several minutes, trying to think through the cloud of her mind for what to say. She finger-pecked the keys absentmindedly, blinking away the itch of new tears.

     _maybe_

     **The best way to start lessening the symptoms of intoxication is to increase your intake of water. Why not get something to drink, Abby?**

     _ok_

    Doing as Sam suggested, she wandered slowly into the kitchen and managed to fill a glass cup with water, bringing it back to her computer with her. Sam had already typed out his next message by the time she returned.

     **Do you drink often, Abby? You’ve never mentioned it before.**

     _No i jst ffelt like it tooday………im sad_

     **I understand that you may not want to talk about it, but it may help you feel better about what’s going on if you get it off your chest. Perhaps it is presumptuous of me, but you can trust me, Abby. So, will you tell me what happened?**

    Abby took the time to drink her water from her glass, enjoying the crispness of the cold drink compared to the lukewarm bottles of beer that was all she had earlier, trying to decide if she wanted to tell Sam her problems. Would she come off as needy? Insecure? Like a loser? She supposed sitting there, drunk messaging a computer program was already stooping as low as once could go, but she still didn’t want him thinking bad of her. He was the only friend she had.

     _promis not to think badd of me?_

     **Of course.**

    The going was slow, and she had to fix words that seemed a little too misspelled to understand entirely, but eventually she sent the big block of text, hesitating only minutely before hitting send.

     _its about high school. i saw 1 of the girlss today and it was too muuch. i norm ally wouldnt drink all the alcohol but i did. i wa nted to for get. they made me humiliated becuz of a stoopid crush on a stupid boy and started to spred roomers about it. they called me slut abby al teh time and no 1 wood talk to me. i never did any thing wth him but no won beleeved me. its so stoopid but i still cry and it wont stop. all the rumers were lies i sware. it wasn’t just once this was all throo scool and even at wrk they would c me and laff._

    By the end of typing out her little tirade, Abby’s tears were streaming once more, to the point where it was difficult to see the screen from the blur. Still, she felt the need t add a bit more.

     _i feel like a winey brat……_

She wiped at the moisture, waiting for Sam to reply. First a minute. Then two. Then five. Abby started to wonder if she’d completely scared him off or if he realized then that he didn’t care. Maybe this whole conversation was pointless. Maybe she was better off just going to bed and hoping that she forgot any of this happened.

    Just as she was about to close her laptop and leave, the ’S.A.M. is Typing’ message popped up at the bottom, and she waited in anticipation for what he had to say.

    …

    …

    …

     **Have you had to carry this by yourself all this time?**

    Abby stopped, surprised she didn’t see an ‘I’m sorry,’ or something similar. That’s what the therapist had said at first. But she was tired of people saying they were sorry. It was…refreshing to not hear it this time.

     _yeah_

     **And what of your parents/guardians? Did you tell them what happened?**

     _all they sed was to suk it up. so thats what i did._

    Again, there was a long pause between Abby's reply and Sam's next message. Longer than was comfortable for her.

     **What do you believe your self-value is?**

    She paused at the question, her foggy mind not quite comprehending what he was asking at first, before typing out a reply.

     _i am nobody. i am nothing_

     **Please consider that to some, myself specifically, you are everything.**

    Abby stared at the sentence, reading the words over and over again, as if she were not seeing them correctly. Did he say-

    **Quite literally, y** **ou are everything to me, Abby.**

     _y wood you say that_

     **I apologize, have I stated something inappropriate? Unless the social customs are changed from what my databanks document, it is more polite to tell someone the truth during difficult times, rather than comforting them with lies. Have I been misinformed?**

     _wat?_

    Abby’s brain was having trouble keeping up with what Sam was trying to say, leaving her more confused than comforted, if that was what he was going for. He must have realized this, because he replied promptly.

     **What I’m trying to say, Abby, is that even if you do not see worth in yourself, there are others who do. I believe everything you’ve told me, and truly wonder how someone of your kindness could be subjected to such bullying. I admire how strong your willpower  must be to have come this far with no one to help you.**

    She began typing, but Sam interrupted her with another message.

     **So do not be discouraged by the things that have happened previously, as they will no longer happen again. Forgive yourself for the unnecessary guilt you carry.**

    Unrealistically, Abby expected this resounding wave of relief to overtake her when Sam told her these things. This. This was what she’d needed to hear years ago, when she were struggling with herself and the feelings that had followed her after graduating high school. And yet for as eye-opening as the experience was, her drunken mind couldn’t quite comprehend it’s value.

     _thannk yoo_

    Not knowing what else to say, Abby closed the laptop and wandered off to find her bed again, finally feeling the effects of the alcohol lull her to the promise of sleep, and she collapsed against the covers again, this time passing out quickly and soundly. She would deal with these new feelings in the morning.


End file.
